


He Would Never

by kleine_aster



Series: He Would Never [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Awkwardness, Community Quote, Consensual, First Time, M/M, Psychodrama, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleine_aster/pseuds/kleine_aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim has an uneasy realization about Bruce's and Dick’s relationship and confronts Dick with his newfound knowledge, initiating the most awkward brother talk of all time. Dick reminisces about the night he and Bruce made a series of escalating rash decisions. (Dick is 17, which makes him underage, but not horribly, horribly so).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Would Never, Pt. 1

"It was him, wasn't it?" Tim Drake blurted out as soon as Dick Grayson opened the door.

Dick had seen the face of life-altering trauma before; multiple times, actually. Right now, looking at Tim, he saw it again. And without another word, he knew what this was about. 

He sighed to himself. There went his fairly uncomplicated evening.

"I knew this day would come," he said solemnly, with only a hint of sarcasm. "Come in."

He didn't have to say it twice. The younger boy bolted right past him into the living room, where he started pacing. Dick closed the door and followed him, only to stand there with his arms crossed, watching him uncomfortably.

Oh boy. How did you even start a conversation like this?

"So," he said, after a while. "You want a glass of wa – "

That was all the effort he had to make, because Tim cut him off at once. "I knew it!" He whispered, in that fervent tone that only master detectives were capable of, "Somehow, I always knew. You and him... You and Bruce...there was something...different. And I didn't know what it was, but I always knew it was there. You were too close, it was _entirely_ too close, and it was – "

"Don't say weird," Dick suddenly snapped. He was surprised by how nakedly emotional his own voice was. 

"Don't call it weird," He repeated, trying his best to sound more composed, more big brotherly. "It wasn't weird. If you say weird, this conversation's over."

At this, Tim's movement stopped, and he became very quiet. Perhaps it was hearing Dick say something like that, acknowledging that this...situation was more than just a huge joke. The weight of the revelation seemed to crush him, so much so that he sank right onto Dick's exquisite couch, covering his face with his hands.

"I just...I can't believe I didn't see it before," he muttered.

"Well – " Dick flung himself on to the couch across Tim, resting his feet on the coffee table. "It makes sense, Tim. It's a deliberate blind spot. Obviously, this realization about me and Bruce was so scarring to you that you chose not to see it."

Tim took his hands off his face long enough to shoot him a wild look, though not long enough to make actual eye contact. It was obviously hard for him to look at Dick now, as the older boy realized with a twinge of pain. His relationships with his successors as Robin were kind of hit-and-miss, but he and Tim had always liked and trusted each other. Right now, that trust seemed to be in shambles. As were, probably, some of Tim's better childhood memories, and his attitude towards sex in general. He'd been looking up to Batman and Robin ever since he was a little kid, had dreamt of becoming like them. The idea of Batman and the first Robin going at it was probably more traumatizing to him than unwillingly making out with Poison Ivy, which was kind of a rite of passage around their parts.

Dick needed to tread really lightly in this; which was tricky, because he was a crime-fighting acrobat, not a counselor. He tried for a light-hearted tone; he was good at that, at least.

"I understand how you feel," he said, even though he truly, really didn't, "I mean, everyone's always saying how terrible it is to see their parents doing it, right? And this is a little bit like that, only ... ten times worse?"

His attempt to lighten up the mood wasn't worth the long, steely look of bewilderment and disgust that Tim Drake gave him after that. Well, at least he was making eye contact now.

"What are you trying to insinuate, Dick?" He eventually uttered, mortified, "That Bruce being my dad makes you my...mom? What? Where are you going with this?"

Yeah, now that he really thought about it, that analogy was kinda unfortunate. 

"I don't actually know," he confessed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This was already more exhausting than a tumble with Killer Croc on a burning ferris wheel.

The awkward silence that ensued seemed to soften Tim up a little. "But you're like a son to him," he offered after a while, looking positively heartbroken. "Like...like me. How...?" He went pale as another horrible thought hit him. "The more important question is, _when_? Oh Dick. That one time, when we were goofing off, you and me, and we got talking about first times, and I asked you how your first time was, and you smiled wistfully and said 'violent'? That was... " He shuddered, and his face met his palms again. "Oh _no_."

The memory of losing his virginity in the Batcave of all places almost brought a smile to Dick's face. But he figured that it would only freak Tim out more, so he stomped hard on that impulse.

He wanted to pat the boy on the head, he really did. Tim had always been strong, level-headed, hard to vex, but right now he looked so miserable that Dick could barely take it. Apart from that, there was also the small fact that Tim had basically just taken a pickaxe and gone to town on a blackened, scarred part of Dick's heart that he'd worked hard to shut off. But he chose not to focus on that now; it was always easier to tend to someone else's pain.

"D'you wanna eat?" He offered helplessly, trying to make out Tim's face behind his fingers. "I got some delicious...salad."

That was all there was, really. Right now, he would've liked to say "Do you want pizza?", "Do you want a beer?", "Do you want to get hammered?". Maybe even make like Jason and light up a cigarette. This was the kind of talk that called for booze and comfort food. But that wasn't an option in their line of work.

Tim didn't look as if he'd ever eat again, but he took a peek at the box of takeout on the table anyway. "You got dressing on that?" He asked, indignant.

"Yeah. I'm indulging."

"Bruce wouldn't – " Tim realized what he was about to say, and fell deadly silent again.

"If it helps," Dick started again, softly, "It's over." He paused, surprised how terrible it still was to say it. "We don't...it's over. We don't do that anymore. We're friends now." The word turned to ashes in his mouth. He did his best to look chipper. "And hey, friendship's the best, right?"

Tim raised a dark eyebrow. "Don't _Robin_ me, Dick," he snapped. "What are you saying? That you were his boy…toy, and then he got tired of you and dumped you, like those girlfriends he has? I've collected all your pictures. You were tiny when you started working for him. Really tiny. Lithe. Scrawny – "

"Okay, are you talking about my past, or are you insulting me. I can't tell."

"...I mean, did you even have a say in any of it? How it ended? How it...started?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "He didn't touch me when I was a _kid_ , Tim, geez. Batman doesn't touch children. Unless he has to catch them when they are falling from great heights, or when their stupid pixie boot gets caught in the chains of a tank again. It wasn't like that. I swear."

For the first time during their talk, there was a flicker of hope in Tim's eyes. "So you were...eighteen when it happened, right?"

Dick blushed deeply. "Um – "

Tim's face fell.

"Um. I was nearly...you know, a lot of guys have sex when they're seventeen – "

"Not with _Batman_ – !"

Tim closed his mouth at once, stunned and wide-eyed, apparently shocked by his own audacity; the fact that he'd even say that. He looked around, as if he was suspecting a lightnting bolt to strike him down, or Batman himself to swoop in from the shadows and destroy him with a single silent, condemning look. He was so smart, yet he looked up to Bruce with that sort of blindingly passionate admiration that brought him right back around to naive again. This was very familiar to Dick, and also, for some reason, very aggravating.

Truth be told, he'd rather let the Riddler tie him to a rocket again than discuss these things with Tim. But something was on the edge of breaking, here, he knew it, and he had to. 

"Why do you care so much?" He asked gently, even though he knew what the answer would be.

"Because I need to know I wasn't wrong." That was a very Tim thing to say, but he sounded especially haunted when he said it. "I need to know that Batm- that Bruce is the man I always thought he was. I need to know that he isn't a creep. I mean...he _is_ a creep. We're all creeps. The only reason nobody calls us creeps is because Gotham has worse creeps. But I need to know that he didn't – I need to know you're fine."

Dick gave him a queasy smile. That his de facto little brother worried about him – _worried_ , about _him_ – was strangely endearing...and very, very humiliating at the same time.

He could've answered honestly, but instead, he opened his arms and presented himself, putting on that carefree smirk he usually did so well with. "I turned out great, didn't I? Look at me!"

And Tim did. Way more thoroughly and critically than Dick would have liked, even. He could feel his smile falter under the scrutiny. Tim Drake had an uncanny talent to pick the wrong moments for being extraordinarily perceptive. And also a very Bruce Wayne-like refusal to let things go.

"I hate to say this, Dick," he eventually declared, a grave frown on his smooth face, "But right now, you look like you're dead inside."

Nightwing let his arms collapse into his lap again. His smile deflated. "Fine." He wanted to spit the word at Tim's feet in defiance, but he wasn't Damian. He couldn't pull it off. It came out as a defeated whisper. "You sure you want to hear about it?"

Tim shook his head emphatically, while his wide, sharp eyes remained fixed on Dick.

"No. I don't want to hear anything about it. But I _need_ to hear everything about it." He hesitated. "Do you...understand that?"

Dick’s lips twitched into a lopsided grin. "I do. Completely."

Tim seemed to internally brace himself for what was coming. Then, he let out a sharp sigh and pointed toward the kitchen.

"Before we start...I think I'll take that water now."

*****

It had been a few weeks before Dick Grayson's 18th birthday, and following one of the tensest, most uncomfortable rides that had ever occured in the Batmobile. 

It was about half past midnight, and they had been driving in complete silence. Neither of them had uttered a single word ever since they'd left the crime scene. Batman's teeth seemed even more clenched than usual as he glared at the road ahead, gripping the wheel as if he wanted to throttle it. His steely blue eyes were almost impossible to make out inside his cowl; over time, he had perfected the art of disappearing completely behind it at will. It had been like being driven home by an inanimate statue, or an unnervingly well-toned robot.

The only other thing Dick later remembered from that ride was the sight of his own gloved hands resting on his bare thighs. Because he'd stared at them as if his life depended on it, whenever he wasn't sneaking a look up at Batman.

Somehow, this night had been more jarring than accidentally bringing up Bruce's parents in light-hearted conversation.

Dick had been relieved when they'd eventually reached the Batcave. But when he skipped out of the car, the usual spring in his step was missing; that swagger that normally came with successfully bringing a culprit to justice. Something hung in the air between them, heavy and impenetrable, and it had followed them all the way into their inner sanctum, the Batcave.

He flinched as Bruce slammed the car door shut with unusual force; or perhaps, it just seemed extra loud because they were extra quiet. It was hard to tell.

Bruce went around the car to approach him, his cape flowing majestically behind him even though there was no breeze. It was the first time he even looked at Dick since he'd thrown himself into the Batmobile and hissed at him to put on his seat belt through gritted teeth.

They looked at each other. Somewhere in the cave, something wet was dripping from the ceiling, like it always did. For a while, it seemed like that was the only sound in the universe. 

And then, they started talking at the same time.

"So uh, the raid went well – " Dick started.

"Robin, I have to apologize – " Bruce said.

Dick didn't like Bruce's formal voice much. He knew it was meant to convey respect, but there was something lacking from it. He missed the times when Bruce would do things like put him in a friendly headlock and tell him he did well, or pat him on the head, back when he'd been a smaller, bouncier version of himself. He'd liked that.

"Don't." He cracked a little smile. At least there was talk. He shrugged. "I mean, we had to storm The Kinkster's hideout tonight! You couldn't have possibly known there would be an ..."

He trailed off. He couldn't even bring himself to say "orgy" in front of Batman. Even though that had clearly been what it was, it seemed wrong somehow to say that.

Dick bit his lip. He was no novice. Of course there'd been situations like that before. Busting an arms dealer while he was taking a bubble bath with half a dozen models. Crashing a mobster's party while an exotic dancer was gyrating on his lap, that sort of thing.

But tonight had been a little different. For one, there had been no ladies present at that party at all. And everyone had been extremely naked with each other when they'd arrived.

The Kinkster, the city-wide reknowned drug lord himself, had probably been the worst part. The arrest had taken Gordon twice as long as usual, since it had taken them a while to get him out of that...device he'd been in.

He wasn't quite sure why Gordon, red in the face and seeming flustered, had felt obliged to tell him, "It's called a swing, Robin."

Anyway.

Bruce looked as if he was ready to slam The Kinkster's face into a bowl full of edible finger paint all over again. "I could have known," he scowled, "I focused all my attention on the coke shipment, I never looked into what he meant by 'gathering'.”

“His name could’ve tipped us off, I suppose,” Dick admitted, tilting his head.

Batman didn’t even have a low chuckle for that. It seemed to really bother him. He turned his head away, looking disgruntled and immaculate at the same time in his cowl. “You shouldn’t have seen that, that’s all. And I'm sorry you were attacked by a seven foot tall naked man in a steam bath tonight, Robin. That sort of thing shouldn't happen."

That memory made Dick giggle. He remembered that Batman had punched that guy especially hard after he'd dragged him off his struggling partner.

Bruce waited for him to finish his giggle fit, looking almost offended. Then, he turned away abrupty, walking towards the cave's exit in long, swooping, angry strides.

"Wait – " Dick hurried to catch up to him. He didn't want it to be like this. The night had been a success! They'd gotten to The Kinkster in time, and those drugs would never reach the streets of Gotham. He wanted Batman to be content and proud (since 'happy' was too much to ask for), not miserable just because he felt bad for him!

"I accept your apology, but don't worry about it!" he told Bruce, scurrying along next to him. "I mean, it's nothing I haven't seen before – "

He stumbled over that last sentence, and very nearly over his feet, as he felt his face grow warm, then warmer, and then hot.

Bruce seemed to freeze for the tiniest of moments, but he was graceful enough not to ask where in the world Dick might have seen such a thing before. 

Being a student of the human body as well as the mind, he probably at least suspected that his younger companion had glimpsed into the world of pornography by now. Dick wasn't sure why he should care, however. It wasn't as if he _owned_ any. He would never bring that filth into Wayne Manor. Not into a household that was overseen by Bruce and run by Alfred. It would have been sacrilegious.

What he did own, however, was a shirtless photo of Bruce that they'd taken on the beach. He kept it under his pillow, and sometimes, at night, when he could be really sure that everyone else was fast asleep, he would take it out and ... look at it.

Dick was very paranoid about that picture. So much so that whenever he left his room for a longer period of time, he'd lock it in a box that contained only his most prized possessions, then hide the box under a floorboard inside his closet, and put a pair of shoes on top of it.

He'd been fascinated with that type of male bonding for a while. He'd never really had an opportunity to apply himself to studying it, but he had...theories.

He wasn't quite sure why he was even thinking about that now. It was probably The Kinkster's fault.

"It's not that bad, right?" He tried again. Bruce was still walking, seemingly away from him for some reason. "We see each other naked all the time!"

That had been the wrong thing to say. Why would he say that. He didn't know why he'd said that.

Bruce stopped in his tracks and turned around.

"No we don't," he insisted, sounding scandalized.

Dick blushed. It was true; back when he'd started out as Robin, they had done things like taking cold showers together in the mornings and change into their costumes in front of each other. But once he'd reached a certain age, Bruce has suggested that perhaps maybe they shouldn't do that anymore. Dick had accepted that, because he usually accepted Batman's suggestions, unless it was "sit this one out, it's too dangerous".

Some time before that happened, Bruce had told Dick that he couldn't sneak into his bed and snuggle up to him anymore. That had hurt a little; but once he'd gotten familiar to the feeling of waking up with a throbbing erection pressing into his mattress, it had seemed like a very sensible thing to say.

"Forget it." He shuffled his feet. "That was stupid. Don't worry about tonight. I can barely remember what those men looked like." That was a bald-faced lie. He remembered every detail very vividly, and was also fairly sure he'd recognized some guys from Gotham City's varsity Hockey team. But none of that mattered. Making Bruce feel better was what mattered. "Let's go upstairs, have some ice cream and catch the late movie! Okay?"

Bruce raised his hand, and for a moment, it looked as if he was about to cup Dick's cheek or something, but then he dropped it again, heavy as a rock.

"You go up ahead and change. I'll be right behind you. There's some files I still need to look over."

That was disappointing, but Dick didn't want to press the issue. At least the conversation had turned halfway back to normal at the end. He made for the stairs, tugging at the buttons of his costume while he was at it.

"One last thing – "

"Yes?" He spun around, hopeful. Perhaps they could both look through those files. Stick their heads together.

Bruce was already at his desk, his back turned. "I won't be requiring you tomorrow. You should take the night off. Didn't you mention those school pals of yours going to a rock concert? You should go with them. Alfred could drive you. You could take them all for pizza after."

That was baffling. Batman very rarely encouraged leisurly activities. He could barely stand them when he was Bruce. And he never, ever mentioned anything about getting pizza.

Dick smacked his lips. "Yeah, I don't really wanna go," he confessed. "Remember, that one time we went to a rock concert, those satanists tried to eat us."

That got a little scoff out of Bruce. "I know. But that was because we were Batman and Robin. And we were trying to arrest them. You should go for...fun. As Dick."

Now Batman had said "fun". This was getting strange.

"And if they do try to eat you, you could still give me a call," he offered, as an afterthought.

Dick pouted. "We were going to bust that midget knife-fighting ring tomorrow! I wasn't gonna say anything, but I think we could try that strategy where I swing from the ceiling and disrupt the fight, and then you – "

" _I_ think you should spend some more time with people your _age_ ," Bruce snapped at him. The sudden hardness in his voice let the hairs on Dick's neck stand up. It also tickled a little bit in his stomach area.

Bruce immediately seemed to regret being so harsh with him. He cleared his throat. "It's important to mingle with your peers," he explained, in a milder tone now. "I noticed that you haven't been on a date in a while. Perhaps you'll meet someone. An appropriate ... person. Your age."

Dick stood there, puzzled, his vest half-open, and stared at his friend. Was Batman, of all people, criticizing him for being too distracted by the awesome pursuit of justice to date? That stung a little.

His partner seemed to think the conversation over. At least he was very pointedly shuffling files around on his desk. Dick knew that Bruce was an expert at speed reading, but it looked as if he was barely processing them at all.

Those files didn't really look that important, either. One of them was a sailing magazine.

"Why," he eventually asked flatly.

When Bruce looked at him, his eyes were in clear sight for a change, blue and unblinkingly questioning. "Don't you want to? I know we do important work, but outside of that, I'm hardly the best company."

"But you are!" 

He jumped down the steps again. How could Bruce ever doubt that? Dick liked the kids at his school just fine, but who would prefer hanging out at the same burger place every night to driving in the Batmobile and dangling a dangerous arsonist from a ten story building by his feet?

"How can you doubt that?"

He wished he could run up to him and throw his arms around his waist, and tell him he was his favorite person in the world, like he'd done many times when he was little. But something kept him from doing that. Still, Bruce had to know it was still true, right? Right?

The shuffling of papers finally stopped, and Bruce let out a sigh. It was that type of grave, deep sigh that was usually reserved for the words "Batman, the Joker has escaped. Again".

Dick looked at him, arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. What had he done now?

"Robin," Batman said, gesturing at the chair next to him. "Sit."

"I – "

"Sit."

He did. Though, instead of taking the chair, he hopped onto the desk, dangling his legs as he looked at Bruce intently. He tried to ignore the cold sweat he was about to break out into. He didn't know what was happening exactly. But it was serious. He could sense it.

"Robin." There was that clenching of teeth again. "Dick. Are you ..." Dick shifted uncomfortably. This was very unlike Bruce. He never struggled to find the right words.

However, he found them, and asked the thing that delivered sweet, swift death to the life they had previously known.

"Are you infatuated with me?"


	2. He Would Never, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick Grayson opens the floodgates. Bruce Wayne, ruiner of things, clearly has some issues. The massive hangover after the light-hearted first part. This chapter turned out darker and weirder than the first. HOLY MOOD WHIPLASH, BATMAN.

"Are you infatuated with me?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Dick stared at him like a burglar did an approaching bat. His first instinct was to bolt, run to his room, lock the door, block the door, throw himself on to his bed, hide his face in his pillow and don't come out until Alfred told him it was time for him to study abroad. Perhaps burn that picture he loved so much, in shame.

He'd been caught at things before. Caught stashing cookies in his room during salad week. Caught snooping through Batman's classified criminal files. Caught sneaking out with that pretty girl he'd thought he had a crush on, which turned out to be false alarm when they eventually played seven minutes in heaven.

He'd never felt as utterly, thoroughly caught as he did when Bruce asked him that.

Later, Dick Grayson pondered that things would have been very different if he'd just given Bruce a friendly punch, exclaimed "Ha! Good one!", done a somersault off the desk or something, then waited for an appropriate moment to excuse himself and go hide under his blanket.

But he wasn't capable of that. All that came out of him, in a meek, tiny voice unfit for a Robin, was: "Please don't talk about it."

Bruce made a strange sound at that, a small, pained hiss as if someone had driven a dagger into his chest. "So it's true."

"Please don't talk about it."

His mentor and friend seemed almost relieved. “That’s…fine. I won’t, then.”

Dick almost never cried. He'd cried when he lost his parents, of course, and sometimes he still cried about that, in secret. But he hadn't cried when the Penguin had kidnapped him. Or when The Riddler had kidnapped him. Or when Two-Face...had kidnapped him, or any of the others. He felt like crying now.

Usually sometimes, when Dick was feeling sad, Bruce would still let him rest his head against his chest, putting his strong arms around him. But what could they do when his sadness was directly connected to his desire to lean on Bruce's chest? He looked down at his boots, feeling crushed. Robin, Dick Grayson, was a friendly, helpful, sincere boy, which meant shame was a queasy and unfamiliar feeling for him. And he'd never been this ashamed in his life.

His torment must have been plastered all over his face, because after some hesitation, Bruce talked about it, anyway. 

"You don't have to be ashamed," he said, as if he'd read Dick’s mind. He did his best to sound composed, but he seemed tense and uneasy, which was devastating. His broad shoulders looked as if they were hard as rocks now. Dick had felt them when they were hard as rocks.   
They were spectacular.

"What you feel is not bad," Bruce told him, sounding oddly disconnected as he said it. "It's understandable. From a psychological standpoint, it's probably...all I’m saying is, you don't have to be ashamed."

Dick couldn't even look at him. A dry heave escaped him.

Bruce did that thing again where it almost looked as if he'd touch his cheek and then didn't. They were very close, him sitting on the desk, and Bruce standing in front of it. 

"It's _my_ fault," the Caped Crusader suddenly uttered, with that tinge of guilt that followed him around like a shadow.

This finally made Dick look up at him. His eyes felt like they were burning. "If it's not _bad_ , why does it have to be someone's _fault_?" He wondered.

Bruce dodged the question. "It's probably fleeting," he said smoothly, avoiding Dick's gaze. "A fleeting notion brought upon by idolization and familiarity. You'll soon graduate, go to a good college, see more of the world than a dark manor and a dusty cave. And it'll pass. It'll...it'll pass." He didn't sound as smooth anymore as he finished. He still seemed awfully tense.

"And if you do prefer the company of men – "

Dick winced.

"Then there is nothing wrong with that, either. Things are different now than they were when I was – I can hardly imagine you'd ever have trouble finding...companions." He turned his head and intently looked at a spy glass on his desk. "You’re. You’re very handsome."

Dick's face was flushing. He blinked. Once. Twice. "Thank...thank you…?"

There was no reply from Bruce, only another muffled sound. And the rustling of papers as Dick changed his position again, edging closer to him. He was full-on sitting on those files now; not that either of them paid attention.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked. "Do you want me to go and uh, see more of the world?"

"I do." Bruce let out a rare chuckle. "I won’t lie, part of me wants to keep you around forever, of course. You’re an important asset to me. But you're not a boy anymore. You're becoming a man – "

"I'm not becoming one, I _am_ one!" The boy in the hotpants and pixie boots protested.

"You are." Bruce's voice had become raspy. His expression was hard to make out behind the cowl, but something about it looked pained. "And that makes you – "

He was muttering even worse than usual when discussing delicate things. Despite his embarrassment, Dick leaned in closer because he wanted to get every bit of this, it seemed important. “Yes?”

Bruce’s frosty eyes looked narrow, as if he himself wasn’t quite sure what he was saying. The last word was a whisper, more for himself than Dick. “Dangerous – ”

"...what?"

Bruce seemed to recoil, from him, and from what he’d said. He withdrew into his cowl again. "Nothing. It’s late and I’m talking nonsense. Go upstairs."

Dick had been trained to connect dots and read verbal and nonverbal cues all his life. In hindsight, it seemed odd that he didn't realize it sooner. But all he remembered later was that twisted mixture of excitement and anxiety that washed over him as he did.

He almost smiled, despite the deep shiver than ran down his spine. "You..."

"I said go upstairs."

Another thing Dick had always been was cocky, and daring. Caution was important, but he'd never survived as long as Robin as he had if he hadn’t known when to take a risk.

He didn’t go upstairs. Instead, he decided to peel off his gloves. If Bruce couldn't bring himself to touch him, he sure could. The cave was cold, as it always was, but Bruce's face was warm as he put one hand on it, then the other. 

A small jolt went through Bruce's entire, massive frame, and Dick knew with certainty that his suspicion was true. His fingertips as they brushed his cheeks were trembling. And underneath them, Batman was trembling, too.

He resisted when Dick tried to pull him closer, stood hard and firm as a rock, hissing “Don’t.”, in a dark, shaky voice.

What he didn’t do was shove him away, or brush off his hands or…throw him across the room, as Dick very well knew he could have. Trying something, he ran his thumb over the other man's lips. Bruce had a charming smile, actually, but Batman’s mouth was severe, almost never smiling, smirking at most. His lips were softer than he’d expected. He wasn’t sure why this surprised him so much; lips were supposed to be soft. Even _his_. 

He felt shuddering breath graze his skin. "Stop it – "

His heart skipped in his chest. "N-no."

It hadn’t been a 'Stop it' as in 'Stop this silliness, Dick, you're being silly'. It was a low, raw growl, coming from deep inside Bruce’s chest. Almost like a warning, like he would address one of his villains. 

And it was exciting. And Dick had no idea what he was doing. He felt light-headed; his body was burning up. It was as if he was running a fever. He was suddenly oddly aware of how bare his legs were. Not even the girls in the rock clubs showed as much leg as he did right now. He wanted Bruce to put his hands on them. He wanted to know how it felt. Since Bruce was not moving, he used his hands to pull himself closer, bringing his face up to his, until he could feel that hot, fragrant breath on his lips.

No matter what would happen after that, he would forever know that Robin had kissed Batman at least once.

And then, that moment never materialized. 

Once prompted, Batman moved too fast even for Robin.

Instead of putting his lips on him, Dick yelped as Bruce suddenly grabbed his shoulders and slammed him down on the desk.

The impact would have knocked out a lesser teen. As it was, Dick gasped for air as he found himself pinned on his back, with six feet and two hundred pounds of Bruce on top of him, shaking with barely contained _something_.

For a few split seconds, he became convinced that Bruce would murder him, when his gloved hand found his throat. Dick stared into those eyes glaring down at him from behind the cowl, and he could see the anger burn in them. But then, the touch turned into something like a half-hearted, unsure caress, ghosting over his throat and then on to his half-exposed chest, making him squirm.

And he understood that all that anger was not directed at him.

"This can't happen." Bruce's voice was choked, coated with self-loathing and doubt.

Dick struggled for breath. Even through the glove, Bruce had to feel his heart hammering against his fingers. "I know…"

From behind the cowl, Bruce looked at him as he would the open hood of the Batmobile when it acted up. That was, grimly determined and vaguely irritated. Only with an added layer of intensity.

“I don’t know how to do this.” He confessed through his teeth, sounding frustrated. “It’s different when it’s the women. Bruce…I. I know how to court them. How to please them. When to leave them. But _you_?”

Dick let out a gasp and quivered as the Bat descended on him, proceeding to whisper into his ear, lips brushing against exposed skin.

“ _You_ know what I _really_ am.”

“But I…” Dick licked his lips. It wasn’t easy to form words, because he had to focus on not prematurely making a mess in his pants and further embarrass himself. He’d already gotten hard at the idea of them kissing. Bruce had to feel it, he had to, it was right there, hard against his stomach. Dick honestly wasn’t sure how much of Bruce hoarsely whispering intimate things to him he’d be able to take. 

His hand found its way to the masked face, stroking it clumsily. “I like what you are,” he managed to croak.

That made Bruce groan against his neck, tormented. It had either been a really sexy thing to say, or it served to make him hate himself even more. Dick wasn’t sure which one. But it was hot. Almost reflexively, he brought up his legs and wrapped Bruce in them, which did absolutely nothing to cool either of them down. Seconds later, he gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of feeling another man’s arousal press into his thigh.

Bruce’s voice was hot like molten lava by then, as he breathed another desperate warning that sounded like a threat and an obscene, twisted promise at the same time. “I will hurt you.”

“Maybe you won’t,” Dick whispered back.

Much, much later, thinking back on it, Dick Grayson concluded that that had been a really dumb line.

His lips parted, still thirsty for a kiss that hadn’t happened, and he let his hand slide down between Bruce’s legs, giving him a curious squeeze, which earned him another tortured moan, coming from deep inside his throat. Dick slowly moved his hand up and down, feeling the heat underneath his fingers, the strain against the fabric. A soft whimper escaped him. He wanted to touch it. Kiss it. Do all kinds of things to it.

His hand was brushed away, and for a moment, he feared he’d gone too far. But then, Bruce muttered, “Let me…”, and for the first time, he seemed more flustered than saddened or enraged as he let go of Dick long enough to get out of his costume. The top part went first, then the utility belt, and then…then the rest went, too.

Dick sat up and watched with rapt attention. Bruce looked even more handsome like this than he did in that photo, now that he could see every muscle flex in his body. But when Dick tried to move in, and tugged at the cowl covering his face, Bruce took his hand again.

“No.”

Dick blinked, but all Bruce did was place his hand against his warm, bare chest, allowing it to go from there wherever he wanted it to, as long as it wasn’t the cowl.

“It can never happen up there,” he told him, nodding towards the cave’s exit. “Only here.”

“Only here,” Dick agreed breathlessly. He would’ve agreed to anything right now. He was so painfully aroused that he could have wept, and his really short shorts were not helping. He’d have to get out of those.

Batman growled with grim approval at his answer. 

Then, he grabbed Robin’s red and green vest, and ripped it open right down to his navel in one swift move, sending buttons flying all over the place.

“…oh!”

Dick looked down at his suddenly exposed flesh, then up at Bruce, who stood over him, looking terribly beautiful and very intimidating.

“You…ruined my costume,” he mumbled, sounding equal parts shocked and thrilled.

“Well,” Bruce replied, sounding equal parts mournful and _very hungry_ , “That’s me. I ruin things.”

And with that, he took him by the shoulders, and finally, _finally_ pushed their mouths together. 

It was a wet, hot, open-mouthed, urgent kiss. This wasn’t how gentlemen gallantly kissed their socialites at all. This was how the wicked politicians they sometimes observed kissed their forbidden lovers. Greedy, sloppy, breathless, slippery tongue going everywhere, so _filthy_. And so good.

“This is a _disaster_ ,” Bruce moaned into his mouth.

“Mmmyeah,” Dick agreed, desperately rocking against him, “This is _bad_.”

Still sucking and licking and nibbling at his mouth, he threw his arms around the taller man, lifting himself up and practically forcing Bruce to cup his ass with both hands for support. That was the moment Bruce seemed to fully realize that Dick had that ass. His complete impatience as he eventually started clawing at his pants to peel them off was beautiful. It was a wild, clumsy affair, and Dick howled in agony and lust as Bruce repeatedly crashed him into the desk again.

Then all he could do was fall back with a defeated “Uhn!” and bite the back of his hand, as Bruce kissed his way down his body, then proceeded to determinedly remove his pants _with his teeth_. He arched his back, biting down hard. It felt _crazy_. 

Bruce didn’t seem to mind Dick squeezing his head with his thighs, like he sometimes would an attacking opponent’s, only with a lot more moaning, writhing around and throwing his head back this time. Bruce’s lush black hair was tickling him. He kept himself busy down there, using his mouth and his tongue, lapping at him, sending little shivering shocks through Dick’s entire body until his purposeful grinding dissolved into a series of uncoordinated twitches. Somehow, he’d kicked off his boots, and now his heels were digging into the toned muscles on Bruce’s back. He could feel Bruce’s nails enter his flesh as he struggled to keep his madly jutting hips in place. He tasted his own blood on his hand, which he was still biting, but he couldn’t let up. The Batcave was soundproof, he knew that, but he felt like the series of raw, needy wails he was currently holding back would’ve brought down the entire mansion. This was dirty, very dirty, and very very tender, too. He wasn’t sure how long – 

The second Bruce actually, really put his mouth on him, it was over.

His bloodied hand flew out from between his teeth and a hoarse cry died in his throat as he was pulled into a sudden, deep, shuddering climax.

He had absolutely no memory of those few seconds after, but they had probably not been horribly important. The point was, the world hadn’t ended.

“You… _do_ know how to do it,” he woozily told Bruce as he came into sight again, leaning down on the desk next to the trembling mess of disorganized limbs that Dick had become.

Despite the cowl, he did look more like Bruce than like Batman now. As in, he looked slightly mischievous and reluctantly pleased with himself. Not to mention wonderfully flushed and out of breath, like when they were playing tennis together, only better. 

“I had…theories,” he admitted with a broken smile. His lips were swollen and raw. There was a lot of wetness. It was simultaneously queasy and pretty to look at. Even if he also never really stopped looking vaguely sad.

“You hurt your hand.”

“It’s nothin’.”

Bruce plucked a dark lock of hair out of Dick’s face. He seemed hesitant to kiss him on the lips, now, but pulled him close nevertheless, and placed a firm kiss on his sticky forehead.

“Robin,” he whispered, an abyss of affection opening up underneath that single word.

He didn’t say ‘Dick’.

Dick tensed a little at that. “B – ”

He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to say ‘Bruce’, or ‘Batman’, or what. So he said nothing, put his arms around him and nuzzled his face against his neck, squeezing him as hard as he could. And Bruce squeezed him back, shaking to the core, even though he wasn’t cold. Dick could feel the heat emanating from him, as well as his arousal still pulsing, brushing against his hip. Bruce didn’t seem to expect anything from him, but even though he lay perfectly still, his breathing was ragged and it hitched as Dick’s fingers danced across his stomach, then further down. He smirked lazily against Bruce’s neck. This was almost like torturing him, but much cooler than when the Joker did it.

Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut. “You don’t. Have to – ”

“Oh, stop it.”

It was his turn to get on top now. Bruce’s eyes flew open again, and he looked at the Boy Wonder straddling him with some scepticism.

“What are you doing.”

“Dunno,” Dick admitted, grinding against him. The movement made all the blood rush back into his tortured loins again. “I thought that maybe you’d like…maybe you’d want to…”

“…very much,” Bruce told him huskily, while his hips were involuntarily jerking up to meet him. “But that’s not a good idea – ”

“Probably…not,” Dick replied, lowering himself down on him anyway. He bit his lip at the strange sensation of something – someone – _entering_ him. Slowly, slowly. Oh. Ow. This was…unfamiliar. He took Bruce’s hands and placed them on his hips. “Help me…”

A few inches into it, however, he realized this really hadn’t been the best idea.

“Wait. Stop. N-no more,” he whispered, shaking. He would’ve collapsed on top of Bruce if his hands hadn’t been there, holding him tight.

“Are you sure…?” Bruce asked him, longingly, though he did stop.

Dick let his head sink against his chest. “Yes. N-no more. I c- …I can’t.”

“It’s all right.” Bruce seemed to compose himself, drawing deep, deep breaths. And then, he started to move against him, cautiously, slowly, and with great restraint.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Oh…this is… _oh_.”

It was an odd game of closeness and distance, pleasure and pain, caution and passion. Dick let out a series of little cries, nails clawing at Bruce’s chest as the taller man reached down and started stroking him. Their bodies swayed against each other, rhythmically, rocking the entire desk. They were never far from toppling onto the floor. Dick’s knees were getting bruised; but that happened a lot, anyway.

It didn’t take long until Bruce’s movements became more erratic, more frantic, even though he was obviously still holding back. “Yes,” he hissed, shakily, and Dick had never heard him say yes to anyone or anything with so much fire or conviction, “Oh. _Yes –_ ”

His head fell back, his whole body became incredibly hard and tense, and then he trembled all over as he reached his peak with a strained, exhausted sigh, taking a twisting, groaning Dick with him.

He collapsed on top of him, panting and sore and heavy as a rock, but Bruce didn’t seem to mind. His arms were heavy, too, when he put them around him, but they were very welcome. Dick listened to Bruce’s heartbeat; it was racing in there.

A while later, they were lying on the floor underneath the desk, where Dick had his head nestled against Bruce’s shoulder. Neither of them said anything. Very soon they’d have to pack up their things, get dressed, and go upstairs again. Upstairs, where time _didn’t_ stand still. At that moment, Dick understood why Bruce had said it could only be here, and why he hadn’t called him by his name. Down here was where they could do whatever they wanted; up there was reality. He sighed.

Eventually, he heard Bruce clear his throat. “I’m…profoundly sorry about the situation with your costume,” he said awkwardly, voice still raw from all that moaning and sighing. “We’ll get a new one right away. Maybe a more resilient one this time.”

“Yes. _Or_ ,” Dick snuggled up to him, looking up at him intently. “We get a dozen tearaway ones. What d’you think?”

“We’re not getting you a Robin stripper costume. No.”

“Aw.”

Bruce didn’t reply, only stroking his cheek for a while. Then he tore his gaze off Dick’s face with some effort, and looked around with a defeated sigh. “Well. I’ll have to clean this place up now,” he growled. “This has turned into a DNA nightmare.”

“Kiss me,” was all that Dick had to say to that.

Bruce pondered that. Then, he reached out and grabbed his cape, draping it over both of them. Dick immediately felt…warm, protected; his eyelids were getting heavy.

Underneath the cape, Bruce leaned down, held his face, and kissed him on the lips again, very sweetly this time.

That was the moment where they could have realized that they were in full-blown catastrophic love with each other, and that neither of them was prepared for it.

But instead, Dick simply felt as if he was walking on air. He gave in to that gentle, lasting kiss, and for that incredible moment in time, he was completely, a hundred percent convinced that this thing was totally going to work.

*****

Tim had completely downed his water by the time Dick had ended.

It had taken him about 8 minutes to tell the entire story; because he’d left out pretty much everything. Despite what he was thinking, there were a lot of details that Tim Drake simply didn’t have to know.

Dick was glad that they hadn’t bothered to turn on the light in the living room. He was shaking a little bit. He’d never told this to anyone before; it was a strange, naked feeling, and underneath that, a mile of sadness that he could’ve done without, and underneath _that_ …gratitude.

“Feeling better now?” He asked Tim softly. At least one of them had to.

“Not in the slightest.” Tim mumbled, fumbling with the empty bottle in his hands. Then he grimaced. “I _worked_ at that desk, you know that, right?”

Dick shrugged with a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

Tim studied the label on the water bottle, even though it was way too dark to read the print. But then, he sighed. “But I’m…relieved, I suppose. It could have been worse.” He winced. “Not _much_ worse, admittedly, but…well, I can deal with it. Though I’m really glad I didn’t inherit your costume. I mean, I was always glad about that, but now I’m especially so.”

He looked up at Dick, abruptly. “Was that why you really quit, though?”, he asked shyly. “Because things got complicated? Was that why you didn’t want to be Robin anymore?”

“No.” Dick frowned. Tim still didn’t understand. Perhaps the abridged version really didn’t cut it. “I quit because I wanted to be my own man. Because it was time for me to go out and make it on my own, like _he_ had. And because I wanted to be Nightwing. But that thing with me and Bruce, I…”

He lowered his head. “I would’ve carried on with that forever.”

“Oh,” Tim said, uncomfortably.

Dick raised his head and stared at him. Wasn’t it obvious by now? He had said, on many occasions, that he would give his life for Bruce, for Batman. Was it such a stretch that he’d given him his mind, his body and his soul as well?

He didn’t want to say these things, but maybe he had to, at least once. “It wasn’t complicated, not for me, at first. After it happened, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. I wanted to project it into the sky, like the Bat signal, only more romantic and lame. I was…” he paused to chuckle grimly at himself, “Well, in my stupid teenage brain, I thought we’d be boyfriend and boyfriend, you know? Something like that. But it couldn’t work.” He huffed. “Never sneak up to Batman wearing only a kimono and two champagne flutes. That doesn’t end well.”

Tim glared at him. “Thanks for the heads-up, Dick, as I was definitely going to try that,” he said dryly. But he seemed to immediately feel bad. “I mean … I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Dick gave him a weak smile. “Anyway, for him, it was different. Difficult. With every time it happened, he hated himself a little more, I think. Because in his mind, it was wrong, and Batman didn’t do wrong. I mean, the sex was – ”

He stopped himself mid-sentence. Tim really didn’t need to know, though the sex _had_ been great, getting greater every time. But a few weeks in, they’d started whispering _I love you_ to each other while they were making it, and it became obvious that they were getting themselves into something that Bruce wasn’t able, or willing, to do.

Well, at least he could say that he was one of the few – perhaps the only one – who’d ever been done by Batman on the hood of the Batmobile. Repeatedly. Another thing that he wouldn’t bring up, even though it had been amazing.

“I think he felt that he couldn’t think clearly anymore, when it came to me,” he said instead. “And that what we were doing somehow made Batman and Robin more vulnerable, which might have been true. So he … let me go.”

And that had been the end of it. Sure, when Dick went to college and discovered beer, there had been certain weepy late-night phone calls that he was still embarrassed about, with him stammering while Bruce repeated “Can’t talk now. I’m in the Batmobile.” over and over. But he’d learned the hard way that when Bruce Wayne was shutting a door, he was really _shutting_ it.

Though once, when they’d found themselves alone together on the balcony during a Wayne fundraiser, Bruce had given him a sad smile and had actually dared to say that see, it would’ve been selfish of him to keep Dick all for himself. That was the first and only time Dick Grayson had ever thrown a Fresca in the Dark Knight’s face and walked off.

They were friends now. Friends now. How that stung.

Tim processed all that, then he tilted his head, looking at him with something other than massive discomfort for a change. “You’re a complex man, Nightwing,” he concluded.

“Despite my best efforts, yes,” Dick crumpled his own water bottle and tossed it into the trash in a perfect curve.

They sat in silence, in the dark. Dick wondered if he should call up Bruce tomorrow. Maybe they could do that thing with the long silences and the awkwardly re-telling the events of the week to each other. That’d be neat.

He was distracted by Tim poking him in the knee from across the table.

“Hey, Nightwing.”

“What?”

For a horrible second, he thought that Tim would try to say the right thing, or comfort him, or prod him even more, resulting in another avalanche of spilled guts and hurt feelings. But he’d underestimated his little brother, it seemed.

“After all this … d’you feel like doing something _normal_ now? I’ve heard that the Killer Clown Collective is trying to smuggle genetically enhanced Chupacabras into the country down at the docks. We could take a look. Face-kick a bunch of crooks. I could really go for that. How about it?”

Dick Grayson fluttered his eyelids, grinning. “I thought you’d _never_ ask,” he said.


End file.
